The Window Closed
by Visions of Paradise
Summary: Mort checked himself into St. Mary's Hospital for mental health, but it's not for what you think. Mort's life finally regains ground, but it starts to fall away as he finds another woman to replace Amy. No one ever did find the bodies...
1. Check in at St Mary's Mental Health

The Window Closed  
  
"Mort! Mort stop it!"  
  
"Mort....please.....don't....."  
  
Mort Rainey shifted from his position in his bed. He quickly opened his eyes hearing the screaming in his sleep. The tears filled his eyes. It wasn't him, it was Shooter who did it. He wasn't crazy. Same thing again. Amy's voice rang throughout the room and was the only sound audiable. He threw his hands over his ears and held his aching head. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair in frustration. Nothing would drown them out. No matter what he tried, the voices stayed just as loud as ever. It had been 3 entire years since the murders came to an abrupt end. Shooter had been gone for some time. Shooter was the reason he checked himself into the St. Mary's Hospital for Mental Health. Afraid he would hurt someone else.  
  
He never let anyone be close to him, since then.  
  
Mort looked around the room in the dark to find it empty and he found himself, alone. Three years.  
  
No one ever found the bodies.  
  
The sheriff vowed he would find them and Mort resembled a crook that got away with it. The first in history to have people know about it, but not know enough. Mort brushed the tears away and a familiar Mississippi accent filled the silence.  
  
"You know you did it."  
  
Mort put his hands back over his ears. Not again. "I don't wanna hear it!"  
  
"You're gonna hear it soona or lata. I'm not wastin my breath for nothin, ya know."  
  
Mort let out a groan. "Just leave me alone." The tears started falling rapidly again.  
  
"You did it. You killed um' all, not me. I didn't do anything. You were the one who owned the screwdriver and the hatchett. Remember our old friends?"  
  
Mort concentrated on what he didn't hear. He began to miss the silence. Longing to have the thing that reminded him: Sometimes Loneliness is the only good thing you have.  
  
"You're such a liar. Sittin there like a bobblehead doll." Shooter tried to immitate Mort.  
  
"Yessuh, I'm Mort Rainy the crazy writer. I'm as sane as Charles Manson. Let meh loose on the chidren!"  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"I'm gonna sit here and answer "yes" ta all your questions. Why? Cause I don't want them doctas to mess with my head anymore and have them tell me I'm a loon."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"I won't an' you know why? Cause I'm Mort Rainy! I live by mah own rules and I ain't gotta own up to nothin cause the money makes it all go away."  
  
Mort began to whimper. Shooter was right. He never acted as crazy as he knew he was. The only reason he was still around was the fear of hurting someone else.  
  
"Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!" Mort looked around to see nothing and the silence was back more comforting than before. He wanted to embrace it, if only it were that easy. Nothing.  
  
Mort pulled the cover up to his neck. "Leave me alone..." He whimpered as the tears began to blur his vision.  
  
Later that morning  
  
Mort got up and went into the bathroom. His roomate hadn't woken up and he was thankful. He turned on the water and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands as he stood in the dark. He didn't feel like turning the lights on. He cupped his hands and gathered the water and splashed his face a couple of times then towled himself off. He looked out the corner of his eye and saw a familiar looking figure.  
  
"So, Mr. Rainy. Why are you here?" The woman all but, hid behind her notebook as she wrote some notes down on Mort's appearance. Rachel looked different than your average doctor. She looked like she hopped out of a Vogue magazine and decided to become a psychiatrist, rather than stay on her page in the book.  
  
Mort looked over at her and adjusted his glasses "Sorry? Miss Porter, I told you that a million times."  
  
"I know, consider this a million and one because I think you're trying to hide something. From my notes, you don't show the average suicidal thoughts nor the behavior of someone on the brink of depression. I think there's something else." She took off her reading glasses and looked at Mort's eyes. They emitted a warm glow. For some reason it was like two pools of warm chocolate. She wanted to melt in them.  
  
Mort uncrossed his legs. He felt so stupid. He was sitting there with their nice little embarrassing blue patient outfit with a white robe over it and a pair of brown slippers. He liked Dr. Porter for some reason. He just didn't know what. There seemed to be an unwritten logic to her and she knew how to use it to her advantage. 


	2. Shooter's visit

**The Window Closed**

"Well, that about does it, Mr. Rainy." Dr. Porter wrote on her clipboard and flipped through some papers.

"So soon? But we just got started on the interesting subject of how my loneliness may be effecting my mood and thoughts." Mort yawned and stretched his hands above his head. He struggled to forget the fight with Shooter from earlier and pondered if he had actually heard Shooter's voice, or if he was just under a lot of stress. He got up to leave as he saw an elderly nurse with grey hair appear at the door for his escort. Dr. Porter removed her reading glasses and adjusted her hair bun.

Soon, she began to speak "Mrs. Johansen? Could you allow me a moment more?" Mrs. Johansen nodded her head understandingly and walked outside of the room and closed it softly behind her. "Mort, er, Mr. Rainy, I received a letter of complaint by the sheriff of Tashmore Lake," She paused for a moment to search Mort's face for any idea or look of suprise.

Mort raised his eyebrows "Oh, really? Did he send any flowers?" He approached her desk which he took hold of a small snow globe that nested on the corner of her desk by a couple of her photos. "Chocolates, perhaps?"

Dr. Porter smiled. She saw the gleam in his eyes hoping he could make her laugh. She gave a silent laugh. "Not exactly. He believes you've killed as many as four people. Your wife's dissappearance happened after she was seen heading to your cabin. Her boyfriend's dissappearance soon followed. Along with a Detective and your neighbor Tom Greenleaf. How do these accusations make you feel?" She flipped to the front page and started to write as she searched his face.

Mort smiled. "I'm exstatic. My joy is overpowering!" He was in a close proximity of her face and handed the snow globe to her as his mouth was about 2 inches from her mouth. He looked into her eyes and continued "And my time is up." He released the snow globe to her grip and walked out the door following Mrs. Johansen back to his room.

Rachel sat dumbfounded. She'd be lying if she said she didn't think about kissing him. She did have an ample oppertunity and she was available since her boyfriend of 2 months had called it quits. She played judge and gave him permission to go, after all, there wasn't enough room in the life of a woman who felt a career was more important for a man. Like a heart filled with furniture, she had no room for anything else and the furniture was not supposed to be there in the first place. She sought after material possessions more at the moment than anything with spiritual meaning. She refocussed herself and wrote down Mort's comments.

"Thanks for the escort, Miss." Mort said trying to give a light smile to her. Mrs. Johansen stood as motionless and as grim as a statue in a cemetary.

"Misses." She corrected him opening the door briskly. Mort was about to walk into the sanctuary of his room when her hand stopped him. "Misses what?"

Mort was about to run into the room, had he not known better she would follow him. "Mrs. Johansen." He corrected himself. She gave a glaring nod of approval before he entered his room.

"Very good, smart-ass." She said as she gave him a shuv into the plunging darkness before she walked off muttering about people today and how they had no respect for their elders.

Mort made a gun from his fore-finger and thumb and aimed at her. He then sighed. The memories of everyone were brought back by Dr. Porter's unsettling questions. The accusations upset him deeply. He sat on the floor with his knees to his chest just behind the door. He couldn't help but laugh just a bit. She was very smart, but she wasn't using it. But still there was that unsettling feeling he had for her. He felt the way he did about Amy. This sense of love he didn't know why he had it, but he did. It was there. He sighed once more then looked over at his roomate who was laying on his bed across from Mort's. He didn't move, but then again Percy never moved. He was invonluntarily confined there by his family.

A few suicide attempts seem to make that happen.

Mort got up and began to head to the bathroom to wash his face. He splashed some cold water on it after removing his glasses. He reached over and grabbed a towel and proceeded to dry his face off. Seeing the unnerving sillouhette of a thin man with a amish style broad hat that made his stomach sink and his eyes open wide as he turned to see who cast the shadow.

In the doorway there was nothing, much to his relief. He looked at his barefeet wondering to himself when he removed his slippers. He laughed to himself as he walked around the room looking on the floor.

"Percy, have you seen my slippers anywhere?" Mort asked as he looked at him hoping to see some kind of an acknowledging answer. Percy merely scooted closer to the wall.

"Why do I bother?" Mort got to his hands and knees and looked under both of the beds. He began whistling while he looked for them. Percy placed the pillow over his head. Mort got back to his feet and walked head on into the body of another man standing there. The man was none other than John Shooter.

Shooter pick Mort up by his shoulders and pinned Mort with his arm across Mort's throat so he wouldn't scream. Mort struggled for air as he fought against Shooter's firm grip. Shooter kept his position and held tight.

"Told ya I'd be seein ya again Mr. Rainy. But this time I've come for somethin you can't weasel your way out of."

Mort kept quiet and focussed on breathing and what Shooter was saying. The panic was seen in Mort's eyes and gave Shooter satisfaction. He slowly loosened his grip to where Mort could breathe easier and have both of his feet on the floor.

Mort panted "You aren't. Real."

Shooter stood facing him as Mort bent to his knees breathing heavily. "I know Mr. Rainy but in a little while, that won't be a problem and I'll be as real as you used to be."

Mort didn't like the sound of that. That, and the fact Shooter used the words "_USED to be_". Mort looked at him and got his breathing back to normal. "What do you mean? And what do you want now?" Mort raised his hands to his throat in an effort to protect himself and also to check if anything was bruised. "Incase you haven't noticed, Mr. Shooter, I haven't written a book in 3 years."

Shooter adjusted his hat. "I know that Mr. Rainy, but believe you-me, I don't want no story. I want you."

Mort moved his back to the wall again confused. "Well, I don't want you. You're a God damn figment of my highly fucked up imagination. You took everything from me and now, I want you to leave before they do a lobotomy on me."

Shooter took a step closer to Mort. "Your body. I wan' it. I'm tired a bein' a damn so-called figment. I wanna be the one to write the stories. I wan' my name on that damn cover." He smiled at Mort and gave him the chills. "And I saw that docter o' yours. She's real nice. And from what I do tell, I think she likes you." Shooter continued smiling at Mort.

Mort couldn't help but notice how bad his teeth were. "Not again Shooter. You took Amy away from me. It's not gonna happen again." Shooter edged closer. "Besides," Mort continued uncomfortably "You don't think someone would notice if you all of a sudden took over my body and added an accent and took away my sanity?"

Shooter gave a little chuckle. "I don't think they'll be missin' that part about your sanity. From what I hear and see in there it's been long gone." Mort threw a punch at him. Shooter moved and watched as Mort crashed to the floor infront of Percy's bed, who then was sound asleep. Shooter grabbed both of Mort's arms behind his back as he was on the floor.

"One warnin' Mr. Rainy! That's all ya gonna git! You've got three days Rainy. Don't do anything stupid, or I'll make you regret it."

Mort turned his head to the side seeing how he was beat and floor didn't taste good. "And how are you gonna do that, Mr. Shooter?"

Shooter released his arms and saw Mort get to a standing position.

"I'll get ya that lobotomy ye'r talkin' about. You see, I can choose to take you over, or move into somebody else. You can't."

Shooter pushed Mort back on his own bed across from Percy's. "And as I was sayin', you ain't got much of a choice."

Mort sat himself up looking around the room. The only thing he saw was Percy sitting up like a bolt of lightning and the first words he ever heard escaped his lips "I know you've got this whole thing with voices in your head, but I don't wanna hear them too!" Percy laid back down and pulled the pillow over his head.

Mort sat astonished. After all that, that was all he had to say? He sat quietly contemplating whether he should let him get away with this one, or if he should smother him with the pillow in the middle of the night.


End file.
